


The Long Walk Back to Sunset

by CoffeeWithConsequences



Series: Retrouvailles [5]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Coming Out, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Hockey, M/M, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 01:04:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15061664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeWithConsequences/pseuds/CoffeeWithConsequences
Summary: After Kent comes out, he and Jack finally talk about what's happening between them.





	The Long Walk Back to Sunset

**Author's Note:**

> Fifth installment of my Pimms Week series, for the prompt "sleepless nights," takes place after [The Tingling Bruises of Collision](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15048773).

“Bro, turn on the TV right now.”

Jack had been nearly asleep on the couch, a biography of Winston Churchill propped on his chest, when Shitty called. He’d picked up the phone with a little bit of concern, because Shitty never called without texting first. He thought unannounced calling was archaic and rude.

“What?” Jack frowned, confused.

“ESPN. Right now!”

Jack propped the phone against his shoulder and grabbed the remote from the coffee table. “Is everything OK?” He had a flash of panic--had something happened to his dad? Surely he wouldn’t be finding something like that out from ESPN.

“Yeah man, it’s good,” Shitty said as the TV flickered to life.

It was a press conference. The Las Vegas Aces colors were draped in the background. Not unusual--the Aces had just won their second Stanley Cup in six years and we’re getting a ton of coverage. Jack stiffened--Kent was behind the microphones, alone. Why would Shitty want him to see this? “What…?” he began to ask.

“Just watch,” Shitty ordered.

On the screen, Kent looked good. Still too thin, but his scraggly playoff beard was gone, and he looked as if he’d slept. He was wearing a t-shirt and an Aces snapback. He seemed calm. “As I said before,” he was saying, “I don’t think my sexuality impacts my hockey in any way.”

Jack swallowed. Was this…?

Another reporter spoke. The camera didn’t show him, but Jack heard the question. “What made you think this was a good time to come out?”

Kent smirked. “I have two Stanley Cup rings. I have a Calder. I’m about to get my second Art Ross, and last year I won the Hart. I’m one of the best hockey players in the world, and I’m at the top of my game.” He took a breath. “This is absolutely the right time. I’ve spent years listening to people claim being queer makes you less of a hockey player, less of an athlete. It doesn’t. I’m here, and I’ve been gay the whole time.”

Jack couldn’t breathe. On the other end of the phone, Shitty was whooping. “Look at that beaut!”

Another reporter spoke. “As you just said, you’re at the top of the game. You might be the most famous hockey player in the country. What impact do you think it will have on young hockey players to hear you say these things?”

Kent shrugged. “Look, I know I’m not the greatest role model--that was never why I got into this. If you want a role model, look at Jasen Ferguson--that dude is amazing. Look at Toews, look at Crosby. But if it helps some kid in the peewees sleep at night to hear me say I’m gay, then I’m all for it. If somebody stops and thinks before they use homophobic slurs on the ice, then that’s good, too.” Kent looked directly at the camera. “If somebody calls you queer, and you can answer ‘yeah, I am, and so is Kent Parson!’ then I’m pretty damn happy about that.”

Another reporter: “How do you expect this news will impact your contract negotiations?”

Kent nodded. “I don’t think it will--management, and many of my teammates, already knew I was gay. It’s been kind of an open secret. But if it does…” he shrugged. “It was time for me to do this. I am confident I can continue to play great hockey, and I’d love to do it here in Las Vegas.”

The next reporter had a voice so snide it made Jack’s skin crawl. “You have a reputation as a dirty player. Do you expect this announcement will increase the hits you take? Is this going to mean open season on Kent Parson?”

Kent looked briefly irritated, but then his press-ready half-smile was back on his face. “I’m pretty sure it’s been open season on Kent Parson for a while. That said, yeah, I’ll probably take more hits now. No problem. I can hack it.” Kent fixed the camera with an openly hostile grin. “Bring it on.”

“Jesus,” Shitty groaned. “He’s gonna get creamed. Dude’s what, 5’9”?

“He’s stronger than he looks,” Jack answered absently. His eyes were still glued to the screen, where Kent was standing up and waving to the reporters as he ambled out, one of the Aces management team taking his place. Jack hit the mute button.

“What do you think brought that on?” Shitty’s voice sounded far away, somewhere outside Jack’s head.

“No idea,” Jack mumbled. “Listen, Shits, I’ll talk to you later, OK?”

“Sure.” Shitty sounded a little concerned, but he didn’t push. “You let me know if you’re going to pull any surprises like that, though, you beautiful bi bastard! I’ll be right there.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Jack pushed the end call button and tipped his head back against the arm of the couch. He certainly hadn’t seen that coming.

Jack’s phone buzzed all afternoon. His parents, the SMH group chat, a few of his Falconers teammates. He ignored them, glancing at each one to make sure it wasn’t Bitty and wasn’t Kent before he tossed his phone back down, then picked it back up, fingers poised over the keys, with no idea what to say.

Finally, late that evening, Bitty texted. Jack could picture him, chewing on his nail as he waited for a pie in the oven, unsure what to say. It made his heart warm and sad.

_You OK?_

Jack thought about the real answer before he responded. Unlike most everybody else, Bitty was asking for the truth.

_I think so._

Bittle’s response came almost immediately.

_Did he tell you he was going to come out?_

Jack shook his head. He’d spoken to Bitty about seeing Kent at the charity event, back before Christmas, but hadn’t mentioned him since. Certainly, Bitty didn’t know about Kent flying out after their break-up, or about what happened in Vegas.

 _No,_ Jack finally texted. _I haven’t talked to him lately._

That was certainly true. Jack thought Kent would text, after a few days, but he hadn’t sent anything throughout the entire post-season.

_I’m proud of him._

Jack closed his eyes. He knew Bitty didn’t say it to hurt him, that he was completely sincere. It was important, for Bitty, seeing someone at the top of the NHL come out. It meant something. But damn if it didn’t feel like an intentional jab. _Proud of him, disappointed in me,_ Jack thought.

As was so often the case, Bitty guessed what Jack was thinking.

_This doesn't mean you have to do anything. It’s OK if you’re not ready. Everybody has to go at their own pace._

It was cold comfort. Intellectually, Jack knew Bitty was right, but he was still ashamed. He thought of their break-up, and wondered if it would have been different if he’d been able to do what Kent just did. He wanted to ask, but was afraid of the answer, so he changed the subject instead.

_Is everything else OK, Bits?_

The pause before Bitty answered was long enough to make Jack worry, but eventually his phone buzzed again.

_Not great, but OK. Passing my classes, anyway._

Jack wanted to press. He wanted to tell Bitty how much he was missed. He wanted to ask if Bitty was seeing anybody, if experimenting and not being so serious was everything he’d hoped it would be. He wanted to ask about Bitty’s summer plans, to ask if they could meet up. But he knew better. Bitty made it clear that he’d let Jack know when he was ready to talk.

_Good to hear._

_Goodnight, Jack._

_Goodnight, Bits._

Later that night, just before he turned out his light and tried to sleep, Jack picked up his phone again. He still wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to say, but he didn’t feel right about not saying anything, so he thumbed out a short text.

_I’m proud of you, Kenny._

There was no response.

* * *

 

Jack had been to the NHL Awards before. His dad nearly always presented, and Jack accompanied his parents as a teenager, when Bad Bob was honored with a lifetime achievement award. This year, though, was his first attending as a player. He wasn’t precisely nervous--he didn’t expect too much attention--but he was glad his parents had flown in to go with him.

He met Bob and Alicia in their hotel room so they could ride to the ceremony together. Alicia opened the door, lovely as always in an evening dress. As he leaned down to hug her, Bob appeared, clapping Jack on the shoulder. “Nervous?” he asked, grinning.

Taking in his parents, Jack noticed they each wore a small rainbow ribbon--Alicia’s attached to the strap on her dress, Bob’s to his lapel. Seeing Jack’s eyes on them, Alicia opened her hand to show a third ribbon, motioning toward Jack’s jacket. “It’s up to you,” she said, eyes kind.

Jack hesitated, but only for a moment. “Of course,” he said, stepping forward so his mother could affix the ribbon. She rested her smooth, cool palm against his cheek. “We’re so proud of you,” she said.

When they arrived at awards, Jack noticed that ribbons like the ones worn by his family were everywhere. Not everyone wore one, but more did than didn’t. He knew it was just a gesture, just a token, but it gave him hope anyway.

The awards themselves were much as he remembered. When he got up to accept the Calder, Jack’s eyes found Kent’s. Kent was watching him intently, neither smiling or frowning. He sat with some Aces teammates at the front of the room. There was a champagne glass in his hand. _I wish I’d been here,_ Jack thought. His mind flashed on a much younger Kent, standing at the same podium, accepting the same honor. _I would have loved to have seen it._

When he accepted his second Art Ross trophy, Kent didn’t reference his coming out directly. He simply thanked his teammates and said he was looking forward to playing with them again next year. If he was nervous, it didn’t show.

The party afterward was more difficult. Jack made polite rounds, sometimes with his parents, sometimes alone. He knew most everybody now, and was able to make enough hockey-related small talk to keep himself moving. He tried not to track Kent with his eyes, but he knew where he was all the time.

Finally, Jack decided he was being ridiculous and crossed the room to where Kent was chatting with a few retired players. Kent had a drink in his hand, and Jack could tell from the way he held it that he wasn’t as relaxed as he’d seemed earlier. His grip was tight, and his posture had begun to turn in on itself. As Jack approached, Kent looked at him with slightly bleary eyes.

“Parse, good to see you,” Jack said, keeping his voice level. He greeted the guys Kent was talking to similarly, forcing himself into casual confidence and making a few minutes of small talk before the two men made their excuses and walked away, leaving Jack and Kent alone.

“You OK?” Jack asked, nodding toward the glass Kent was still holding over-tightly. “This has to be stressful.”

Kent shrugged. “Fine,” he said. He looked guarded, but curious. “Congratulations on the Calder.”

Jack nodded. “Congratulations on the Art Ross. And the Cup.” He paused, unsure how to say it, but plowed forward. “And congratulations on coming out.”

Kent smirked. “That part was easy.”

Jack looked skeptical. “Really?”

Kent shrugged. “Everybody who mattered already knew. It was stupid not to make it public.”

“Are you worried about the blowback?”

“I can handle it.” Kent’s voice was colder than Jack would have liked, but that was probably to be expected.

“I’m glad you did it,” Jack said, hurrying the words out of his mouth before he thought better of them.

Kent raised an eyebrow. “Not worried it’ll turn on you? If people wanted to dig, we weren’t that subtle in the Q.”

Jack nodded. “Might happen. But no, not worried. Don’t much care, honestly.”

Kent didn’t look as if he believed Jack, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he looked as if he was about to walk away.

“Kenny, can we talk?” Jack stumbled over the words, but figured there would be no better time. “About what happened?”

Kent’s mildly surprised look became one of absolute shock. “Jack Zimmermann wants to talk,” he mused. “Are you sure you haven’t been replaced by some sort of body-snatcher, Zimms?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “No. I...I just think we have things to say to each other.”

Kent nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’s probably true.” He licked his lips. “Yeah, we can talk. But not tonight. Not here.” He glanced around the room. “I’m exhausted, and I’m a little drunk, and everybody in this room is waiting for me to fuck up.” He tilted his head, considering. “I’ll be out your way in two weeks--Coach’s daughter is getting married on Cape Cod. We can get together then.”

Jack nodded. It would be better to have some more time to think first, anyway. “OK.”

“I’ll text you,” Kent said. He grasped Jack’s shoulder for an instant, his hand gone before Jack could even register it. “Congrats again. I’ll talk to you later.”

After Kent walked away, Jack’s mother found him. She looked worried, a line pressed between her brows. “Everything OK, baby?”

Jack nodded. “Fine.”

“How’s Kent?”

Jack glanced in the direction in which Kent had disappeared. “Fine, I think. Kinda hard to tell.”

Alicia nodded. She looked as if she wanted to say something more, but didn’t. “Are you ready to go?” she asked.

Jack shot her a look of relief. Given his choice, Bad Bob would stay at these types of events until the cleaning crew kicked him out. An offer to duck out early from his mother was a blessing.

“I’ve got a bit of a headache,” Alicia said, making no effort to sound as if she meant it. “Maybe you could take me back to the hotel. We’ll leave your father here to relive his glory days.” She smiled at Jack. “We’ll change clothes and find some sort of awful boring documentary on the TV.”

“Maman, that sounds perfect.”

* * *

 

Kent’s text, when it came, was short and to the point. Lunch at a place on the beach at 1 pm the Sunday after the wedding. Glancing at the address, Jack knew it would mean a long wait in traffic for him to get there. It was likely intentional--that’s the kind of petty shit you could expect from a put-out Kent Parson. He didn’t argue, just sent back a confirmation and spent the next two days worrying about what he was going to say.

When Jack got to the restaurant, Kent was already at a table outside. He was wearing shorts, sneakers, and ridiculously expensive sunglasses. Even though Jack, in slacks and Sperrys, was the one more appropriately dressed for the establishment, he felt out of place. Kent looked him up and down before he sat down, then smiled. “Been golfing, Zimms?”

“Don’t be a dick,” Jack answered.

Kent smiled. “You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

Over lunch, Jack learned that the wedding had ended up quite a party. Most of the Aces team had been there, and they still weren’t quite done celebrating their Cup victory. The ridiculous sunglasses were hiding a pretty fair hangover. They didn’t talk about anything below the surface, just chirping each other casually and keeping the conversation light. They ate huge plates of seafood, and Jack was thankful for his own sunglasses keeping his eyes hidden as he watched Kent lick butter off his fingers.

“OK,” Kent finally said, pushing his plate away and sitting back. “You wanted to talk.” He looked around the crowded patio. “You want to stay here, or go for a walk?”

“Walk,” Jack decided. He felt jumpy, like it would help to have something to do while they spoke.

A few minutes later they were on the boardwalk, headed toward the beach. The sky was overcast, rain was coming, and most of the beachgoers were packing up and heading to their cars. Kent slipped off his sneakers and socks and walked barefoot once they hit the sand.

Kent didn’t seem inclined to rescue him by starting the conversation, so Jack began. “First, I need to apologize.” He looked at Kent, but both of them kept their eyes hidden behind their sunglasses. “It wasn’t fair of me, in Las Vegas. We should have talked about that before it happened.”

Kent shrugged. “I didn’t object,” he said. “I was into it.”

 _OK Kenny,_ Jack thought. _You’re not going to make this easy at all, are you?_ He pulled air in through his nose before he continued. “It hurt you, though.” He didn’t say it like a question.

Kent snorted. “The way I remember it, you’re the one who went home sore.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

When Kent didn’t answer, Jack pressed on. “I...I was glad we were talking again. Scared, but glad. I missed you.” He swallowed, wishing the words would come easier. “I wish I hadn’t fucked that up.”

Kent turned his head toward Jack slightly, but didn’t seem to be looking at him. “We fucked it up,” he corrected. “You can’t take responsibility for everything, Zimms. Other people make their own choices.”

Jack nodded, not sure how to answer. After a moment, Kent continued. “I don’t know what you want from me. Are we friends? Are we fuck buddies? I can do those things. But you have to make up your mind what you’re doing here.” He sighed. “I spent years trying to guess where you were, how you felt, and I’m just not going to do it anymore. If you want something from me, you’re going to have to tell me.”

“That seems fair.” Jack stopped walking, pushing at the sand with his foot. “What if I don’t know?”

“Don’t know what you want from me?” Kent stopped too, a few paces ahead. He pulled his hat off and held it between his hands, letting his hair blow in the wind. “Then you need to figure it out.”

Jack watched him closely. His eyes were still hidden, but his body was firm, feet planted, shoulders wide. “I love you, Jack,” he said, voice slow and sure. “I’m not going to stop. And we can be friends, or we can be something else. But I can’t be your punching bag, and I can’t be your dirty secret. I’m done with that.” He sighed, then continued. “And if you’re still in love with your boyfriend, I’m not going to say I don’t want you, but you have to be honest about it.” He turned his head to look at the water. “Part of the reason I finally came out is because I don’t want any more secrets and lies in my life. I want to be happy, and healthy, and whole. I deserve that. And I’m going to do it with or without you.”

Tears burned in Jack’s eyes. He reached up and pulled off his sunglasses, making sure Kent could see them. “OK,” he said. “I need some time. But...but I want you in my life. However that happens. I don’t want...I don’t want to be awake at night anymore, worrying about how I lost you.”

Jack saw Kent swallow. He left his sunglasses on, but Jack knew he was tearing up behind them as well. “Me either,” he said. “I’m sick of not sleeping.” He pushed his hat back onto his head, smashing down the unruly curls the wind had blown into a halo. “I’m not going anywhere, Zimms. You let me know when you’re ready.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please come visit me on [Tumblr](https://coffeewithconsequences.tumblr.com/) or read the rest of my fic here at [Archive of Our Own](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeWithConsequences/works)!


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